


...In My Bungalow

by Hidden_Pineapple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (mostly), Canon Compliant, M/M, S9E8 spoilers, Some angst, Zeke (Supernatural), background Sam&Crowley??, human!Cas, kinda just happened???, some hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 10:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hidden_Pineapple/pseuds/Hidden_Pineapple
Summary: Things are going slow in the bunker. There are no cases, and no progress on the translation of the angel tablet. When something finally shows up on the radar, things take a different turn than any of them would have imagined.Spoilers up to and including season 9 episode 8.





	1. Chapter 1

BANG BANG BANG!

“I said get up!”

Dean groaned at Sam’s overbearing voice and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He heard the door creak open.

“If you don’t get up now, breakfast’s going to get cold.”

Dean sat up in the bed, surprised, squinting his eyes at the light. “You made breakfast?” His skepticism was evident in the tone of his voice.

“What? No, Kevin did. I just went jogging.”

Truthful, it seemed, as his floppy hair was dripping water down the shoulders of his shirt. “Now get up, will you? Bacon doesn’t stay hot forever.”

Needless to say, Dean got out of bed pretty quickly after that, and even though he missed the warm sheets immediately, the crispy bacon made him forget all about it.

 

There hadn’t been a case for over two weeks, and Dean was getting mighty sick of it. The bunker was cool, yeah, but not for being holed up for days on end. Kevin had his everlasting amount of translation to do, and Sam always managed to dig up some dusty old book to read. Dean on the other hand, didn’t really care about any of that. It wasn’t like he could help Kevin anyway, and books got real boring, real fast. So, he’d spent the first week fixing up Baby till she was back to pristine shape. The second week he spent tuning things that didn’t really need tuning, and looking for flaws he knew he wouldn’t find. Going on the third week, he was about ready to climb the walls. 

He picked up a wrench, thinking he’d tighten the bolts on the wheels, but ended up standing kind of aimlessly with it in his hand. He needed a case, soon. Or even better, for Kevin to finally catch some break in his translations. Or for Zeke to get done healing Sam and himself, so he could go find Cas. If he had to be honest with himself, he missed Cas.  _ A lot _ . The first few days after he’d chased him away, he’d mostly just felt guilty. Pretty soon he’d started feeling sad about it. Not long after that, he was just plain miserable. Not knowing where Cas was had been bad enough, but chasing him off when they’d finally found each other was just awful.  _ Damn Zeke and his paranoia! _ Dean didn’t doubt there was some truth to his fears, but dammit, wasn’t it obvious that right here would be the safest place to be? The bunker was warded and hidden; there’d been no plausible reason why anyone, demon or angel alike, would be able to find Cas, or any of them for that matter, down here. Especially not after they found the garage and started parking Baby inside.

“Dean, dinner.”

He was unpleasantly ripped from his thoughts by Kevin’s scrawny voice.

“Yeah, coming.”

He put down the wrench, which he didn’t really need for anything because he’d tightened the bolts less than a week ago, and went inside to eat.

 

“Really, sausages?  _ Again? _ ”

Dean was getting really damn tired of sausages. Apparently Kevin didn’t know all that many recipes.

“If they’re so bad, why don’t  _ you _ make dinner,” Kevin bit back. He looked like shit.

“Dean, give him a break,” Sam mumbled around his forkful of sausage and fries. He didn’t even look up from his stupid book. “Unlike us, he’s actually doing his job.”

Dean grumbled something unhearable in response, while Kevin cut through his sausages with a vengeance.

Actually, Dean had thought about making dinner. A pair of mouth-watering hamburgers would be just the thing he needed right about now. He just couldn’t be bothered to do it.

“Sam, why don’t you take care of dinner tomorrow then, if Kevin’s so busy?” His voice portrayed some of his displeasure over the lack of hamburgers. In response, Sam’s face said he didn’t much appreciate Dean’s tone.

“Out of the two of us, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s the least busy. At least I’m doing research. Sorry Dean, but you’re it.”

Dean cursed inwardly, biting back his sour response. Apparently, he’d just have to suck it up. 

 

Later in the evening, after having put away all his tools in the garage, Dean retreated to his room and pulled out his favorite edition of  _ Busty Asian Beauties _ from the basket under his bed. He reminded himself to buy the next edition, which would hit the shelves tomorrow, and decided to head into town to get what he needed for the burgers at the same time. He’d went for a few drives over the past few weeks just to keep busy, but he knew that announcing their presence too often would lead to no good, and tried to avoid it. Having a purpose for the drive went a long way to ease his conscience. Satisfied with having laid a plan for the following day, he spread the magazine to the mid pages on his lap, folded out the pages and unbuckled his belt.

“Aaah, good to see you, miss  _ Rokugatsu _ .”

 

When eventually turning off the lights and laying down on his side, knowing he wouldn’t sleep for another hour or two, he let his mind wander like it had so many other nights before. It didn’t take long for strong arms to wrap around him from behind. He felt warmth all along his back, and hot breath on his neck and close to his ear.

“Hey,” he sighed.

“Hi,” Cas answered. Dean turned around and pulled him into a close embrace, holding tightly onto him. He fell asleep like that. Alone in the dark, no one could tell what went on behind his closed eyes.

 

The next morning Dean woke up before Sam’s usual knock, clutching his pillow tight. His back was freezing cold from lack of sheets, having gotten them into a jumble at the front of his body and between his legs. After a glance at the clock he got up and hit the shower, ignoring his red, puffy eyes when passing the mirror.

 

“You’re up early,” Sam mused when he passed him on his way out. “New edition of  _ Busty Asians _ available or what?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. What of it?” Dean barked.

“Nothing, nothing.” Sam held up his hands in surrender, with a stupid grin on his stupid face.

“Where’s Kevin?” Dean looked around, not seeing the kid where he usually sat squinting at the angel tablet.

“I think he’s still asleep. Should I wake him up?”

“Well, would be nice if he actually found some clue on how to stuff the vengeful cuckoos back upstairs.”

“Don’t you think he’s earned  _ one _ morning of sleeping in? I mean, he’s been pretty hard at it ever since we got back.” Sam’s face twinged with what had to be sympathy.

“Fine. But no longer than noon,” Dean answered gruffly.

 

 

After handing his money over to some acne-ridden freckle-faced kid behind the counter, Dean walked back to his car pleased with his purchase. Instead of driving straight back to the bunker, he took off a dirt road and parked underneath some trees at the edge of the woods. For a moment, he just sat there in the silence. His intention had been to take a look at his new magazine, but now that he was there, he didn’t really want to.

He closed his eyes.

The next moment, Cas was sitting in the passenger seat. He didn’t say anything, though. Probably because Dean didn’t want him to. They sat silently in each other’s company. Remembering it was nothing more than a fantasy, Dean felt tears starting to sting in his eyes. Soon, they were falling down his face. He heard an embarrassing, pained sob escape his lips. A hand grabbed his own firmly, and even though tears clouded his eyes, he could see Cas lean in close, talking soothing mumbo-jumbo while stroking his hair. It didn’t matter what Dean imagined him saying, he was just as painfully alone in the goddamn car. The sweet, somewhat sour smell, the warm breath on one side of his face…it was nothing but remnants from old memories, lingering sensations he hadn’t ever really felt. It didn’t  _ mean _ anything. It was just a dream. He was torturing himself, really, but in a way the image was better than being entirely without. Maybe, just maybe, his own conjurings could make him feel just a little less lonely. If he’d just lose himself in the fantasy. If he’d just forget.

Forget that he was completely, utterly alone.

 

“These burgers are actually really good,” Kevin said after carefully swallowing a mouthful. Dean didn’t answer, just nodded while chewing and sighed pleasantly. Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, those are his specialty. Don’t ask him to cook anything else; I’m pretty sure eating it would kill you.”

Dean glared for a second at Sam, but let it pass in favor of continued burger-eating.

As soon as the burgers were wolfed down, Dean picked up all three plates and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with three pieces of pie, one a little bigger than the other two.

“Wow, two-course meal?” Kevin sounded really impressed, until he got a closer look at the store-bought pie. “Oh. Well, I guess dessert is dessert.”

Dean didn’t respond to that either, just about as busy with the pie as he’d been with the burger.

“I’m surprised you haven’t learned how to make pie yet, Dean,” Sam wondered aloud.

“Takes too much time,” Dean answered.

Sam nodded, then hesitated a bit before he continued. “Think we should give a piece to Crowley?”

Kevin coughed, spraying crumbles across the table. Dean just looked at Sam. “Why?”

“Yeah,  _ why?” _ Kevin sounded angry.

“I don’t know; he’s our prisoner, shouldn’t we feed him?”

“Do demons even eat?” Dean sounded like he was asking himself, rather than anyone else. 

“I don’t know, do they? But do we even know Crowley is a demon anymore?” Sam gesticulated with his hands, and his fork went in a wide arch. 

“He hasn’t complained about being hungry so far.” Dean chewed down another piece of pie.

“Even if he was, he’d deserve it,” Kevin’s voice was ice cold. Sam looked at Kevin, perhaps willing him to play nice.

“Maybe he’s forgotten what it feels like.”

Sam seemed surprisingly concerned about Crowley. At this point, Dean could tell he probably wasn’t going to back down. Not that it mattered, anyway. “Maybe. Sure, bring him a slice. Just make sure he doesn’t bite off your arm while he’s at it.”

“No! Why should we share anything with that asshole? He killed my mother!” Kevin had gotten up on his feet.

“Calm down,” Sam raised his hands. “We know that. But if we let him starve, how are we any better than him?”

Kevin glared back.

“Hey, I don’t like the bastard any more than you do, but he’s been nothing but cooperative. I mean, he helped us translate that ancient language even you couldn’t read, remember?” Dean chimed in. “We might have further use of him down the road.”

“Fine.” Kevin sat back down, crossing his arms. Sam got up and disappeared to the archive with a fresh plateful of pie.

~~~

“Hi Moose, missed me?” Crowley drawled in his usual manner.

“Hey,” he ignored the question. “Just thought I’d ask if you’re hungry,” Sam began tentatively, not knowing what to expect. Dean and Kevin were both predictable in their own manner, but he never knew where he had Crowley.

Said King of Hell raised an eyebrow. “A little late to be asking that now, isn’t it? I mean, had I been hungry.”

“Well, if you don’t want this, then I’ll just take it back to Dean.” He turned to leave.

“Hey, hey, hey now, wait a minute, I didn’t say I didn’t _ want _ it. Just because I don’t  _ need _ your human nutrition, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”

Sam chuckled. “Why am I not surprised. Crowley with a sweet tooth.”

“You have your vices, I have mine. You don’t happen to have a nice glass of scotch to go with that, do you?”

Now that Sam was inside the demon circle, he got a closer look at Crowley. Despite what he claimed, his face looked gaunt. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed the guy had been hungry for quite a while - but he was pretty sure they’d have no peace from his complaints, had that been the case.

“So, you gonna spoon feed me or what?” Crowley looked up at him expectantly, with a wide, mischievous grin on his face. Sam got down into the chair across him, and started passing over spoonfuls. Crowley opened wide and afterwards chewed pleasantly. “Let me guess, Squirrel went shopping today?”

“Yeah. Even got up early to do it,” Sam mused. Crowley nodded as if such had been expected. When he thought about it, the guy wasn’t the worst company. When he wasn’t trying to kill you, of course. Maybe he should visit him more often. Might make him easier to work with when they’d eventually need his help.

When the last spoon had been swallowed, Crowley smacked his lips. Difficult to say if in satisfaction or displeasure. “Next time, bring something to drink. Crust gets so easily stuck in your throat.”

“I’ll try to remember,” Sam replied on his way out. He turned out the lights and closed the door behind him carefully, rather than with the usual finite bang.

 

“What did black-eyes have to say?” Dean looked up from his (probably third) empty plate when Sam returned.

“Not much. Demanded scotch to go with the pie.”

“Oh dear, the kids are growing spoiled. Good thing you didn’t turn out like that,” Dean shot over at Kevin. He snorted in response, concentrating on the angel tablet.

“So, does he need fodder or not?” Dean didn’t sound particularly interested. Professional curiosity might be a better description of it. The nature of Crowley was no short of a mystery these days.

“Not sure. Says not, but still ate the pie. I think we should offer him food more often. Would be kind of stupid if he starved to death in our dungeon.”

Kevin snorted again. “Yeah, he’d be missed,  _ real _ bad.”

Dean and Sam both ignored his sarcasm. The kid had coverage for his acid for a long, long time.

“Fine by me, if you’re up for doing the feeding. I’m not going anywhere near that.”

Sam shrugged, not really minding the idea. He had to admit, after seeing Crowley inject himself with blood, he was a bit curious about the guy.

 

Later that night, Sam lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Everything was quiet around him. He didn’t hear Dean’s usual snoring from down the hall, so he must still be awake. Probably reading  _ Busty Asians _ . Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard Dean’s snoring in the evening for quite a while now. He started wondering if Dean was having trouble falling asleep. Maybe he should ask about that in the morning. Perhaps suggest a certain brand of tea. Not that he thought Dean would ever drink it, but then at least he’d know about it.

Sam decided to go get a glass of water. Passing Dean’s door, he heard a soft mumble. He chose not to think any further of it. Well into the kitchen, he remembered Crowley’s complaint about crust stuck in his throat. Imagining his gaunt face, Sam hesitated for a moment, then felt guilty enough to fill a second cup and head towards the archive room.

~~~

Dean lay awake as usual. Suddenly his phone lit up and started vibrating. Caller ID said Cas.  _ Well this is new _ , he thought to himself. He picked up the phone, and answered quietly. “Yeah?”

“Hello Dean. I’m...outside. Outside the bunker, I mean. Would you, by any chance, be willing to open the door for me?”

“Sure, be there in a sec.”

For a second he started wondering why his mind would produce this particular situation, but quickly wrote it off to being inspired by some random plot-lacking porn he’d seen recently. It certainly fit the bill.

He got out of bed, and quietly thread his way up to the front door. He wasn’t quite sure why, seeing as how all this was going down in his head, but it seemed right at the time.

“Hey,” he said when opening the door. Cas was standing in front of him, clothes slightly damp from a light rain. He stared at Dean intently. Somehow he seemed more real than usual. He also seemed more vulnerable.

“Dean.” He began to say something more, then stopped and hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Remember all those times you’ve told me you needed me? Well now I…now I need you.”

“Of course, all you have to do is ask, Cas.”

This vulnerable Cas was new to him.

“You look exhausted. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Cas looked immensely grateful when he stepped inside, another level of detail Dean wasn’t used to. The pie must’ve set his imagination into hyper drive, going full-scale realistic.

Dean shuffled back to his bedroom, Cas on his heels, feeling cold in his boxer and t-shirt. Back in the room, he turned on the bed-side lamp and closed the door. Getting colder by the second, he hurried under the sheets.

Cas stood by the door, hesitantly looking at Dean.

“Well, what are you waiting for, get into bed.” Dean patted the top of the bed right next to him. This new dynamic was a little confusing, but quickly growing on him. He felt good being protective of Cas, being the strong one, the one to lead. It made his lonely daydreaming feel less desperate. Less pathetic.

When Cas took off his shirt, Dean noticed strange writing tattooed on his stomach. His imagination really was spiraling off. Must be Kevin’s notes, scattered all around, finally getting to his head.

As soon as Cas was underneath the sheets, Dean turned off the lamp. In darkness, he turned around and put an arm on Cas’s stomach. He felt him tense up, and moved his arm up to stroke his hair instead, chuckling at his own mind’s projected prudishness.

He heard Cas sigh with pleasure. Just a little noise, probably let out involuntarily, but enough to make his dick twitch. He was too tired, having gotten up extra early this morning and all, to do anything about it, and instead just snuggled up closer, tangling his leg between Cas’s. In that moment, he heard his breath hitching. He felt himself getting hard, wood up against Cas’s thigh. With his eyes closed he didn’t think any further of it, and just whispered into Cas’s ear: “I still need you.” He fell asleep like that, just for a while completely forgetting about his miserable loneliness.

~~~

Sam entered the dungeon quietly, only to find a Crowley apparently drowsing. He didn’t really know what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. He made sure the door behind him was closed, just to be certain he didn’t wake up the others, before scraping a little extra with the chair to wake up Crowley.

“Wha!” Crowley jerked awake. It took him no less than a second before opening his mouth wide and- “STUDENTS IN THE HALLS! MOOSE IS – “ Sam threw himself across the table and clasped his hands over Crowley’s mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you,” he hissed. He felt Crowley’s mouth widen into a grin underneath his hands, and tentatively pulled them away.

“What can I say, you caught me by surprise.”

“Wait, did you just quote  _ Harry Potter _ on me?” Sam was incredulous.

“What, you boys get to cite movies all day long, but I’m not allowed to read?” Crowley’s voice raised a little, and Sam hurried to apologize.

“No, no, no, that’s not it. Of course you can. I just never pegged you for a … bookworm.” Sam smiled a little.

Crowley snorted indignantly. “Yeah, ‘cause all demons and monsters are illiterate, aren’t they. You boys are so mighty, up on your high horse of research, and spells, and… you know what? You’re not even that good. Your Latin’s  _ bloody awful _ . There, I said it.” Crowley raised his eyebrows, challenging Sam to…he didn’t even know what he was being challenged to.

“Our Latin’s….awful? That’s the best insult you can come up with?” Sam was amused.

“Oh no, not Squirrel, he’s smart enough to stay away from all that,  _ you _ . Where did you even learn your pronunciation? Did you sleep through all those lessons?”

“Crowley, what’s going on?” Sam was getting skeptical. He doubted Latin was such a heartfelt subject to Crowley.

He didn’t answer, just stared defiantly back.

“Fine. Well, I was coming to give you a glass of water, but I guess that’s out of the question.” Looking down at the table, where the glass was evidently dripping off the edges. “Maybe if you hadn’t  _ screamed _ like a little –“

“And what about that other glass, what’s wrong with that?” Crowley’s voice was sharp.

“That’s  _ my _ glass.”

“What, you can’t get a new one on your way back to the forest? ‘Cause I’m certainly not going anywhere.”

Sam sighed. “Fine.” He leaned forward to tilt the glass against Crowley’s mouth.  _ Should’ve gotten a straw _ . From where he was standing, he realized Crowley’s lap was soaking wet. Of course, the glass had tipped over towards him, and most of it had dripped over his legs. Sam chose to ignore it.

Crowley suddenly started coughing, and Sam belatedly removed the glass, but not before more water had dribbled down his chest. “Watch where you’re pouring, Moose!” he croaked. Sam apologized. He sat back into his chair, and just watched as Crowley continued to hark with annoyance. A thought struck him. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“What, you gonna hold it for me?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “No, thank Hell, demons don’t digest.”

“But what happens to that pie you ate?” Sam was confused.

“I don’t know,” Crowley stated angrily, “turns into rainbows and kittens most likely. Nothing makes its way downstairs.”

“Huh.”

They sat in silence for a while, until Crowley squirmed uncomfortably. “You wouldn’t mind loosening the collar a bit, would ya? It’s chafing at my throat.”

Sam hesitated a little, then decided Crowley wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway. He bent forwards to take off the chain around his neck.

“Ah, that’s the stuff.” Crowley bent his neck this way and that way, setting off the loudest joint-cracking Sam had ever heard. “So, what do you want from me? I assume you didn’t just come for the company.”

“What? No, actually, I just wanted to give you that glass of water. No hidden agenda. That’s  _ your  _ thing, remember?”

Crowley eyed him suspiciously.

Now that Sam thought about it, maybe he did want the company. He couldn’t sleep, and it’d be stupid to wake the others. So he just sat there, him and Crowley looking at each other. To Sam, it appeared that Crowley didn’t know just what to think. Probably skeptical by nature, as would be expected, considering his occupation.

“So…read any good books lately?” Crowley was surprisingly casual in his question, as if he wasn’t chained to a chair on top of a demon trap in their secret dungeon.

Sam thought for a second. “Actually, the  _ Game of Thrones _ -books are really exciting.”

“Ah, that Joffrey is such a little bitch.”

“You’ve seen the show?” Sam couldn’t help but let his surprise bleed into his voice.

“Oh, HBO’s latest masterpiece? How could I miss it.”

“No spoilers though, I’m still not done with the books. But they’re really good. It’s easier to keep track of all the people.”

“I can imagine.”

They fell back into silence. Sam had to admit, the conversation didn’t exactly come easy. He decided to call it a night. “Well, I should get back to bed.” His hands went to the chain, placing it firmly back around Crowley’s neck. He didn’t protest. “Need me to…get you a towel or something?”

Crowley waved him off, as good as waving can go when strapped to the armrest of a chair. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

Sam turned to leave. Just as he was closing the hidden wall, Crowley spoke up, sounding somewhat hesitant. “Will you…come back tomorrow?”

Sam looked at him, curious. “Maybe.”

Back in bed, he wasn’t really sure what it was he had seen in Crowley’s eyes just as he was leaving. Hope? Desperation? None of them really fit into his impression of the guy. Maybe there was more to the results of his blood-experiment than he knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up feeling better than he had in a long time.  _ That’s what burgers and pie will do to a man. _ He was in the middle of a content yawn when he got interrupted by Sam’s excited yelling.

“Dean, we’ve got a case!”

He jumped out of bed, grabbed his clothes and ran into the library, dressing as he went. This was what he’d been waiting for. What he’d desperately been hoping for, for several weeks. No more painful boredom, no more frickin’ sausages. Finally.

When he got to the library, feet still bare, Sam was sitting in front of his computer.

“What is it?” Dean sat down across him, putting on his socks and shoes.

“Man butchered his wife, after seeing his ex-wife for a few weeks.”

“And?” Dean didn’t want to admit it, but that didn’t really sound like a case. 

“And, the ex-wife died in a car crash seven years ago.”

“Oh.” Dean was delighted. That was definitely worth checking into. “Far away?”

“Just a couple of hours up north.”

“Awesome, let’s go.”

“Cas!”

Dean froze, half done with his shoelace.

“What are you doing here?”

Dean whirled around. And damn it all, if it wasn’t Cas standing right frickin’ there, crumpled clothes, solemn face and all.

“I was….lonely.”

Dean blinked several times, remembering his fantasy from the night before. This  _ couldn’t _ be.

“When did you get here?”

“Last night.”

Damn Sam and his stupid questions.

“Really? I didn’t hear.”

“Dean let me in. I slept in his bed.”

Sam looked at Dean, shock mixing with gleeful amusement.

“No such thing happened!” Dean barked. Sam’s grin got wider. Oh, he was never gonna live this down.

“But I thought you went out on your own?”

Cas looked sad. “At the time, I didn’t expect it to be so…difficult.”

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… _

Dean couldn’t think straight. This was too much. He had to be dreaming. There was no way an ex-angel spent last night in his bed. Dammit, angels. What would Zeke say to all of this? Would he leave Sam? He had to find a way to fix this. He couldn’t chase off Cas  _ again _ , not after he’d come back looking miserable with his tail between his legs. This was going all kinds of shitways.

“Well, how do you feel about working a case with us? I’m sure you could be of great help.” Sam’s suggestion was heaven-sent. Maybe if Dean could just convince Zeke to let Cas help solve the case, then at least he’d have another couple of days to fix this.

“Sure, I don’t see why not. I suppose it would be good, being a…hunter.” Cas looked pleased with himself.

“Well, let’s get going.” Dean didn’t know what to do with himself, other than focus on the case. He’d have to find a way to contact Zeke later. 

“Yeah, I’ll just leave Kevin a note.”

“The kid’s  _ still _ asleep?” Dean wasn’t happy.  _ What does he think, the angel parade is some sort of tourist attraction? _

“Guess so. I don’t know, he seems more tired than usual. I guess the angel tablet is more taxing than we expected. Besides, he’s running top gear to get some sort of meaning out of it in time. He spent six months on the demon tablet, after all.”

Dean didn’t answer. Sam probably had a point, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Fine, just meet us in the garage when you’re ready.” Dean started walking. He felt Cas staring holes into his neck on the way, but he wasn’t ready to deal with that just yet.

~~~

“He’s in the first cell down the hall.” The police officers at the city station had cooperated right away after they’d waved their fake badges in front of their faces. Cas had flipped it upside down,  _ again _ , and it made them look ridiculous. Dean had laughed it off, explaining somewhat conspiratorially to the chief how the new guy was always such a hassle. They’d gotten inside without any issues, and now they were standing in front of iron bars, looking down at Benjamin Gosé.

“Okay, so, mister…Goose,” began Dean, “we’re with the FBI, and would like to ask you a few questions.”

The man looked up. Sam thought he looked exhausted. His eyes were red and puffy, and his cheeks were tear-streaked. He was sobbing loudly, and honestly seemed pretty pathetic. He just looked at them. “Uh, Dean, I don’t think that’s how you pronounce it,” Sam supplied. Dean spared him a devil-may-care glance in return.

“Would you mind explaining to us what happened?”

Mr. Gosé sobbed again, and choked out, “Haven’t I told this many times enough already?”

“Please, just one more time, and we’ll leave you be,” Sam said comfortingly. This guy didn’t exactly strike him as a cold-blooded killer. He seemed completely devastated.

“I…I killed her.”

“Yeah, and?” Dean was being too impatient. Sam didn’t understand how his brother couldn’t see that rushing wasn’t gonna get them anywhere with this guy. Mr. Gosé started wailing.

“Please, take your time,” Sam attempted desperately to calm him.

“I stabbed her; again and again and again until…until she couldn’t bleed anymore, until she was all messed up. I was just so…so angry! I hated her! I  _ hated _ her!” He went back to wailing, but added in between, “I don’t know what got into me, I must be going crazy!”

Dean just shook his head, looking disgusted. Sam guessed he couldn’t believe how big a wuss this guy was being.

“Why were you angry?” Cas spoke for the first time since they got there.

“I…I missed Claire. Terribly.”

“That’s your first wife?”

“Yes. I met with her all the time. It sort of felt like it was Marissa’s fault that we couldn’t be together.” He choked up.

“But she’s dead, right,” Dean asked.

“I know  _ that _ ,” Mr. Gosé was still sobbing, while his nose produced what Sam considered to be a ridiculous amount of snot.

“How did you see…Claire?” Cas sounded sympathetic, like he was trying to soothe the guy. On some points, Sam thought Cas was doing the human thing better than Dean.

“At the strip club, the Bungalow. She came to me when I ordered a private session, and it was always her after that.”

“Did you notice anything…weird when you saw her?” Dean started running through the checklist.

“You mean other than the fact that I was seeing my dead ex-wife? No. No, it was just like she was there in the room with me. When I was with her, I was so happy…happier than I even was back when I was married to her. It made me hate the idea of going home to Marissa.” He looked sad at the memory.

“So you didn’t feel cold, or see anything weird, or feel anything funny or anything like that,” Dean insisted. Mr. Gosé just shook his head slowly.

Sam harked somewhat awkwardly. “Well, I think we’re done here,” he declared. They turned away from the cell and spoke in hushed tones. “This is sounding a whole lot like a siren. If she’s working out of the strip club, we should probably check it out.”

Dean grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Finally! A job that leads us to a strip club. There is a God.” He looked up at the ceiling with his hands spread out for good measure.

“Of course there is,” Cas said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I think we should go undercover,” Dean carried on. “Actually, it will look really weird, not to mention all sorts of creepy, if three dudes ask for a private dance. I think I should probably do that alone.”

Sam wasn’t surprised, and didn’t really have any protests, so he just shrugged. “Fine. We’ve dealt with sirens before, so I guess you’ll be alright. Besides, we’ll be waiting right outside the door.”

Dean turned back to Benjamin Gosé, and said: “We’re gonna need some of your blood.”

He looked startled, and Sam hurried to add: “It’s just a small blood test for the guys back at the lab analyzing things from the crime scene, just standard procedure.” 

“But…they already took my blood sample,” he answered.

“Different lab,” Dean supplied.

Gosé looked calmed at that, and nodded distractedly. Sam could tell he was about to start wailing again. “I’ll go get the equipment.”

~~~

Bronze knife coated and all, they changed out of their suits and wasted a few hours laying around in a motel room until it got dark outside. Nobody would be at the club during the day anyway. Sam’s further research showed that there hadn’t been any unusual deaths earlier on, so everything suggested the siren had gotten there recently.

When they got to the Bungalow, they entered together, the bartender eyeing them from behind the counter, and Castiel registered how Dean started winking at the girls on the floor. He seemed particularly interested in the red-head hanging upside down by her legs from one of the center poles.

They split up without a word, Sam and Castiel taking a round around the venue, and Dean heading for the bar. Castiel realized that now as a human, he might take an interest in these establishments of bodily pleasure, but this was not the time for that. He sat down a couple of tables away from the bar, and saw Dean show a picture of Benjamin Gosé to the bartender. The other man nodded slowly, and pointed to one of the discrete doors along the back wall. Castiel caught Sam’s eye, and they waited until the bartender had just led Dean to the door before they began to follow. Castiel felt his heart rate quicken. They were closing in on the siren.

Through the door was a corridor with several more doors, presumably bathrooms and locker rooms and such, and a big archway with stairs leading to the stage inside the strip club. They barely saw a door close far down the hall, and stood with their ears pressed against it to listen for anything suspicious. They heard nothing.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Castiel whispered.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Sam answered. Minutes passed, and still they heard nothing.

“Wait…shouldn’t the bartender have come back out by now?” Castiel asked.

“There might’ve been another door.”

“But he’d have to pass us in the hall to get back to the bar, wouldn’t he?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he tried to open the door. It was locked. Castiel hurried to take a step back as Sam moved to kick down the door. The rusty hinges gave away on the first try. Inside, Castiel saw Dean sitting on his knees in the middle of the floor, eyes open but unmoving.

“Dean?” He got no answer. He ran up to him, looking for wounds, but was glad to find none. “She must’ve gotten the jump on him and used her poison,” Castiel thought out loud.

“No…the bartender!” Sam hurriedly retrieved the bronze knife from Dean’s pocket, and ran after him through the only other door in the room.

~~~

He ran through three more rooms before coming upon the guy. He was rummaging through a locker, throwing things in a duffel bag. He turned around when he heard Sam burst through the door.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he started with his hands up. Sam didn’t believe it for one second. He’d been fooled by that before.

Sam circled in on him, and the guy took a swing at him immediately as he got into range. Thrown off balance by his own punch, Sam lounged back into reach with the knife poised, and stabbed the man somewhere around his left kidney – 

And nothing happened. The guy didn’t even flinch. He quickly regained his balance, and Sam, confused by how the bronze knife seemed to have no effect, took the second swing right to his jaw. He twirled around and hit the ground heavily, already unconscious.

 

He woke up in a dusty motel room. His head was pounding, and he tried to move his jaw, gingerly. It seemed unbroken.

“Good, you’re up.”

Cas was sitting at the table by the window. Sam looked around. Dean lay in the bed next to him, seemingly asleep.

“We need to find a way to help Dean,” Cas continued.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He’s been like that ever since we found him. It’s been a few hours.”

Sam glanced out the window; it was still nighttime. “I think we should head back home. Maybe we’ll find something in the books,” he said.

Cas nodded solemnly. He was obviously worried that Dean hadn’t woken up yet. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Cas helped carry Dean, and they headed back home to begin researching. It was tiresome work. Sam was impressed with how long Cas lasted reading; however, he eventually had to give in to sleep. Sam continued on, letting him rest, but he could feel his pace slowing down. Kevin tried to help, but he was a mess to begin with, so Sam convinced him to go to bed. He’d be no help anyway, and they couldn’t afford to be two men down. Better he rest, and return with new vigor.

As the hours dragged on, Sam realized that even between the two of them, it would take years to read through all the books. But he’d never heard of anything like this. They didn’t even know what was wrong with Dean. He hadn’t changed since they put him down on his bed upon their return, just fast asleep with a relaxed face. He almost appeared to be in a coma. But what siren tricks men into killing their wives, are impervious to bronze knives and can put people into a comatose? He had no idea. Something tugged on his memory, something about it all feeling so familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then an idea struck him.  _ Crowley _ . Maybe he knew what this was. He left Cas asleep on top of an open book, and headed for the dungeon.

Crowley looked up at him when he opened the hidden door and turned on the lights.

“So the prodigal son returns, eh?”

Sam shook his head. He could tell Crowley was displeased. Was this about not coming back yesterday as he’d asked? “I never promised anything.”

“I am aware of that. But it wouldn’t kill you to be nice.” Sam realized Crowley was pouting.  _ Wait, what? _

“I have a favor to ask you.”

“What, you’re not even gonna buy me dinner first? Just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date.”

“We’re fighting something, and I have no idea what is.”

Crowley eyed him for a moment. “Go on.”

“At first it seemed like a siren; a man butchered his wife, and he’d been seeing his dead ex-wife for weeks. But when we found the siren, it didn’t die from the bronze knife. It didn’t seem to hurt him at all. And he…he can put people under. I don’t know, sort of seems like a coma.”

“Where did you say you found this guy?”

“Strip club. He was bartending.”

“Ah.” Crowley nodded.

“You know what he is?”

“Yes,” Crowley answered, but he didn’t continue.

“Then what is it,” Sam asked, getting impatient. He needed to know what was wrong with Dean, but he didn’t want Crowley to know that.

“Uh uh, tit for tat.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to give me something in  _ return _ , stupid.” Crowley sounded like he was speaking to a particularly dense child.

“Okay, what do you want?”

“ _ Game of Thrones _ . I want you to read me the first book.”

“ _ All of it? _ ” Sam was dumbstruck. That book was as heavy as a brick. It’d taken him over a week, just reading on his own. Reading the whole thing out loud would take forever.

“Yeah,  _ without _ the chains. And I want scotch.” Crowley grinned wickedly, clearly pleased with himself.

Sam was stunned. This was a long-lasting recurring appointment with the King of Hell. Just reading a couple of hours a day, he’d be at it for weeks - but he was desperate.

“Only one bottle of scotch.”

“Two.”

“Fine. And I’ll only take off the one around your neck.”

“ _ Fine _ . I guess we have ourselves a deal, then. Get me pen and paper, and I’ll write us up a contract in a jiffy.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it.” He sounded confident enough, but internally Sam was groaning.  _ I can’t believe I just agreed to this _ . “So, what is it I’m up against?”

“Well, it’s djinn, obviously.”

“ _ What _ ? Don’t those feed off of blood? Or…fear?”

“Yes, those are the standard issue. But there’s also an even rarer type; sort of like a spinoff branch from the fear type. Only they feed off pleasure.”

Sam frowned. “How come I’ve never heard of them before?”

“Well duh, they feed off pleasure. How would that be a problem.” Crowley chuckled at the ridiculousness of it.

“But then why did this guy kill his wife?”

“That, I don’t know. I’ve told you what you wanted. Now get to reading.”

Sam shook his head unbelievably. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to wait.”

“Hey! We had a deal! That’s the last time I’m accepting oral agreements,” he heard Crowley shout after him as he hurried back to the library. He didn’t bother with closing the door.

“Cas! I know what he is!”

Cas jerked awake. “Who?”

“It’s a djinn!”

“A djinn?” Cas was clearly confused.

“Some sub sort feeding off of pleasure.”

“But that means…”

“Yeah. Dean’s stuck in a loop. And it’ll take a silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood to kill it, not bronze.”

“We need African dream root.”

“I think there’s some down in the storage room. I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll wait for you in Dean’s room.”

~~~

Back in Dean’s room, Castiel didn’t really know what to do while waiting for Sam. He sat down on the side of the bed, right next to Dean. He searched his face, but it was completely relaxed. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, so Castiel begged it wasn’t a nightmarish loop. Surely it couldn’t be if the djinn feeds off of pleasure. But there was no telling what other powers it may have. He’d never heard of this kind before.

Suddenly Sam burst through the door, dream root brew in hand. He squatted down next to Castiel. “I think you should do it.”

“Why?” Castiel was confused.

“I don’t know. It just feels right. Maybe because I’ve already been in my brother’s head, and I don’t need to see that again.” He handed over the brew. Castiel looked at it, then scrunched his nose at the smell. It reminded him of all the toilets he had to unclog while working as a store clerk. With one last glare at it, he chugged the whole thing down, and everything turned black as he slumped down at Dean’s side.

 

Next, he was looking at Dean from a few feet away. He was awake, lounging on a sofa. He was smiling, a sort of pleased smile. 

“Hello, Dean.”

He turned toward Castiel as soon as he heard his voice. “There you are!”

Castiel frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, silly.”

Castiel was standing in front of him now. Then Dean grabbed his wrist, and pulled him down into his lap. Castiel’s eyes went wide, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. He was kissing Castiel’s neck.

“What…what is going on?” Castiel lightly pushed Dean away, caught completely by surprise by the gesture. Now it was Dean’s turn to frown in confusion.

“What do you mean? This is how it always happens.”

“Always happens…?”

“Yeah. You show up out of nowhere, and then we kiss, and then we go over to the bed and –“ he was pointing with his thumb at the bed behind him, which Castiel hadn’t noticed until now. He realized that they were in a motel room. No, wait, a  _ hotel _ room.

Dean’s grin got sheepish, “—and then we, you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Castiel’s eyebrows made a good effort to reach his hairline. How was Dean not noticing his surprise?

“So, let’s get to it.” Dean tilted Castiel’s head with two of his hands, gently, and went back to kissing his neck.

Castiel made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, unable to think of anything else than how utterly  _ wrong _ this was. They were inside Dean’s  _ head _ . This was the loop he’d been stuck in? And he didn’t even realize he was under an illusion?

Suddenly it hit Castiel why Dean was so eager to take him in the night he arrived at the bunker. Like this, he didn’t think it was for real. He thought he was dreaming. That had to be it.

Dean pulled back at Castiel’s protesting noise. “What?”

“How many times have we done this?” Castiel’s voice was apprehensive, but Dean responded all the same.

“I don’t know. A hundred. A thousand. About every night since you left.”

Castiel was shocked, and Dean finally seemed to catch on. “What?”

“You…this…a djinn. We were fighting a djinn,” Castiel said lamely. He became acutely aware of how he hadn’t moved away from Dean’s lap, and quickly got back on his feet. Dean’s face turned white.

Then they were out of his head. They were back on Dean’s bed in the bunker, Sam watching them expectantly. “So? Are you okay?” He stared at Dean. “For a while there I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.” He laughed nervously, and it was obvious that it wasn’t entirely a joke.

Castiel got back on his feet, much like he had done in the illusion, just as Dean cleared his throat and responded, “Yeah, well, you know, lots of hookers and that kind of stuff. Difficult to tear yourself away from.”

“Of course,” Sam laughed, “I’m not surprised.” He looked overjoyed at having his brother back to normal. Dean didn’t look at Castiel, and he was left standing there feeling pretty left out.

“So, let’s go gank this son of a bitch.” Dean sounded eager to do some damage.

“How? We don’t even know where he is,” Sam asked. Dean didn’t have a response.

“What if he never left town?” Castiel spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Sam looked at him with curiosity.

“I mean, surely there is more than one establishment of pleasure in one city. What if he just moved onto the next?”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” Sam responded. “You two should go check it out.”

“Wait, you’re not coming?”

Castiel suspected Dean didn’t much want to be alone with him at this point, but he didn’t want to explain that to Sam.

“Yeah, I’ll sit this one out. You can handle a lone djinn. Besides, Cas could use the training.”

“You sure?”

“Actually, I promised Crowley I’d read a book to him,” Sam admitted, sounding embarrassed.

“You  _ what _ ?” Dean managed to sound angry and disappointed at the same time.

“Yeah, I needed him to tell me what we were up against. He held up his end of the bargain, so I’ll do the same. Oh hey, pick up a couple of bottles of scotch on your way back, will you?”

Dean didn’t even answer, just shook his head as he exited the room. “Cas, you coming?” He shouted from down the hall.

“I’ll make sure we buy the scotch,” Castiel assured, before hurrying after him.

~~~

They stopped by a butcher to get the lamb’s blood for the silver knife, then started visiting all other strip dens, pubs, bars, spas and massage studios in town. They didn’t speak to each other, apart from Cas looking up places on the internet and directing Dean while he drove, and Dean making new suggestions. By the end of the day they’d been everywhere they could think of, and no one had caught sight of the guy. Dean decided checking into a motel. He wasn’t willing to give up yet; they just needed to regroup.

 

Cas was laying on one of the beds, while Dean was sitting at the small table with the computer. It was 2 in the morning, pitch dark outside, and they had no clue where to look next.

“Well, I think I’m gonna try and sleep on it,” Cas said from the bed.

Dean looked up at him, for the first time in an hour. He was feeling really embarrassed.  One thing was fantasizing about your best friend, another thing was for them to experience it first hand. Twice.

“Yeah, that might not be such a bad idea,” Dean answered, trying to sound neutral.

Cas got up from the bed and started undressing. Dean was surprised Cas wasn’t freaking more out about this. He’d expected him to be disgusted with him, or hate him, or at least be angry with him in some way, after seeing what loop the djinn had put him in. He’d denied that first night; of course Cas knew what had really happened, but he hadn’t brought it up, and Dean had been able to ignore it altogether. But after meeting Cas inside his own nugget; well, he couldn’t deny that. It was just staring him right in the face, whenever he looked at Cas, making him shift uncomfortably. It felt like he’d messed up in a way beyond repair. Like this…this  _ awkwardness _ and heavy air between them could never be fixed. They could never go back to normal after this, and Dean knew that.

He felt guilty.

Felt like he’d taken advantage of Cas, both in his own thoughts, and when Cas had shown up on that doorstep two nights ago. Not that he’d done anything, but he  _ had _ gotten handsy, and he’d treated Cas without thinking about his wishes. Without asking first.

He was practically a rapist.

The thought made him feel disgusted with himself.

“Hey Cas…”

Already tucked into bed, Cas turned around to look at him.

“About what…about all of it, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, okay? It was just messed up.  _ I’m  _ messed up. And I just need you to know that I’m sorry about it.”

He couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t call them as what they were; the fantasies, the illusions, the touching –

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m not angry about it.”

Cas looked honest enough, but Dean had trouble believing that. If he felt disgusted with himself, how could Cas not? But instead of saying that, he just nodded, a guilty lump stuck in his throat. He watched at the edge of his eye as Cas turned back around and went to sleep.

~~~

Castiel lay awake with his back turned at Dean, listening as Dean kept on doing research on his computer for another half hour, then shut it silently and went to the bathroom. Castiel kept his eyes closed when he came back out, pretending to be asleep. He heard Dean take off his clothes and get into bed after checking the front door was locked. It was annoying not being able to see anything, as he heard Dean toss and turn for the next half hour. Eventually all fell silent, and Castiel waited for another five minutes before he dared to turn around.

Dean was facing him, eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar and a drop of saliva forming at the edge of his mouth. Castiel had to smile a little, despite how sad he felt. Dean looked oddly peaceful when he slept. His face became five years younger without the usual creases of worry, but at the same time there was something startling about the lack of emotion, be it anger, confusion, boredom, or humor, on his face.

Feeling brave, Castiel got out of his bed and moved over to Dean’s. He saw his eyelids twitch just before he startled awake, looking up at Castiel in surprise.

“Is this a dream?” He seemed confused, and at the same time worried.

“Yes,” Castiel answered. He didn’t really know what to do with Dean being awake, so it was better if he would just dismiss it in the morning. Castiel sat down on Dean’s bed.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered. He sounded completely broken.

“Don’t be,” Castiel answered.

“I can’t believe I did that to you. I can’t believe I’m  _ still _ doing it, seeing you in my head. I just…”

“…Missed me,” Castiel finished for him, comfortingly stroking his hair. “I know. I missed you too.”

Dean looked sad. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you to leave.”

Castiel swallowed around the lump in his throat. He still didn’t understand it, but he respected Dean, and didn’t want to trick it out of him. He’d explain it when he was ready for it. It was killing Castiel, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Dean, to second-guess his judgement in that way. Dean trusted him to understand, so Castiel would just have to have trust in him as well.

“Me too, Dean. Me too.”

Dean fell back asleep like that, silent tears dissolving into his pillow. Castiel sat there for a while, a hand on Dean’s hair, enjoying the closeness and the warmth. He knew it wasn’t really his to enjoy, but in that moment he didn’t care. He remained seated there for a long, long time before going back into his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jurassic World;  
> “You wanna consult here, or…in my bungalow?”  
> “It’s not funny.”  
> “Nehehe. A little funny.”   
> Chris Pratt fucking rules. I love that guy.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke with his right eye plastered together, and fought to open it. His body felt heavy, almost as if he was hungover. Only Dean didn’t get hungover anymore, so that couldn’t be it.

He could hear that Cas was already up, and tried to force the sleep out of his face. “You’re up early,” he said in what he hoped was a casual tone.

“Not really,” Cas answered with a notepad and a pen in his hand, heading towards the computer.

Dean looked at the clock on his bedside table. 10:14 a.m.

“Shit! How long have you been up?” How had he even managed to sleep this long?

“Only for about an hour or so,” Cas replied from over by the table.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Dean got out of bed and hurried to pull his jeans on, tucking away his morning wood. Cas wasn’t looking his way, so he figured he was okay.

“You seemed like you needed it.”

“Huh. Well, have you found anything?” Dean poked his head through the neck hole of his t-shirt.

“Actually, I was thinking…we’ve been to every possible pleasure facility this town has to offer, but what if the djinn can also feed on  _ emotional _ pleasure?”

“Such as?” Dean didn’t entirely see where Cas was going with this.

“Such as weddings, christenings, fairs, that sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t really sound like a steady income of joy, though.”

“Yes, that’s the problem with it. It’s not bound to one location, such as the spas, and there’s no guaranteed flow of customers, such as the strip club. What we’re looking for has to be…institutionalized, somehow.”

“Huh.” Dean couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say.

“What about…the maternity ward?” Cas wondered out loud.

Dean frowned. “In the hospital?”

“Yes. Think about it; women giving birth on a regular basis; I mean, what other event in life releases such stunningly vast amounts of oxytocin and endorphins?” Cas was gaining confidence now. “That has to be it, if he’s still in town.”

Dean shrugged, unsure what to think. “Well, it’s worth a shot. Let’s get going.”

~~~

“Okay, there you go.” Sam lifted the chain away from Crowley’s throat.

“Ah, finally. Thanks, love.”

Sam sat down across from him,  _ Game of Thrones _ on the table in front of him.

“And the scotch?”

“Sorry, the others aren’t back with it yet. You’re just gonna have to wait.”

“You Winchesters never keep you end of the deal,” Crowley muttered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to read you the book or not?”

“Pfft, you know what I mean.”

“We only do what we have to, you know that, right?” Sam wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince Crowley.

“You do what fits you the best,” Crowley bit back. “Nobody  _ has _ to do anything.”

Sam didn’t answer. He knew Crowley was part right. Sam could’ve closed the gates of  _ Hell _ , only Dean didn’t like the cost of that, and convinced him not to. Not doing it served nobody but themselves.

“So, Moose, get to reading.”

And he did. Sam actually read through the first 50 pages before he felt his throat run dry, and stopped at the end of a chapter about Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannister.

“I’m gonna go get some water, okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” Crowley didn’t seem to care. “Oh, would you be a good lad and see if you can’t find me some wine.”

 

Back in the kitchen, Sam decided Crowley was probably the red wine type, and poured a glass without really looking at the bottle. He figured why not make a night of it while Dean and Cas were off hunting the djinn, and grabbed a beer for himself.

Back in the dungeon he put the wine glass down in front of Crowley and sat back in his chair, opening the beer bottle with his hands.

Crowley leaned forward and sniffed his wine. “Huh, not bad.”

Sam took a chug of his beer, and noticed Crowley eyeing him with a strange look. He seemed almost embarrassed.

“What?”

“Would it be too much to ask if I may…hold my own glass?” Crowley’s eyes didn’t meet his.

Sam began to understand how big a shame it had to be for the King of Hell to not even be able to drink without assistance. He felt sorry for the guy, despite everything he’d done through the years; despite all the people he’d killed and the trouble he’d caused. He’d even taken  _ Bobby _ . Right now, though, he just looked pitiful. A broken man, left with nothing but the pieces of his shattered crown. He was nothing.

“Fine. But don’t try anything.”

Crowley looked up at him, obviously surprised at having his request granted. After Sam had taken off the chain around his right hand, he lifted the wine glass to his mouth and took a sip, his eyes nearly closed. He sighed. “You have no idea,” he began, “how good that was.”

“I can guess,” Sam responded, thinking back to when Lucifer kept haunting him, and how good it felt when he had finally been free.

“Well, continue,” Crowley gestured with his glass over at the book in front of Sam. He put down his beer while Crowley held onto his glass, and picked up the book.

 

At around page 100, Sam had gotten tired of reading aloud.

“I think this is enough for now,” he said as he closed the book.

“Aaaw,” Crowley groaned. “Right when it was getting interesting.”

Sam finished his beer. He’d gone back to the kitchen for a second one about half an hour ago, also refilling Crowley’s glass. Half of that still remained. Crowley was clearly savoring it.

Over the past few weeks, he’d sometimes thought about what had went down when he tried to finish the third trial. About how Crowley had nearly become human. About how different he’d been as one, how he’d had emotions. How he’d showed them. The two beer bottles, though they weren’t much, aided him when he finally worked up the courage to ask Crowley straight out what he’d been left wondering.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Crowley replied over the edge of his glass.

“That thing you said back in the church…what did you mean by that?”

“That’s really none of your business,” Crowley responded coolly.

But Sam couldn’t help it. He’d been curious for a while, and Crowley dodging the question only added fuel to the fire. “You said you deserved to be loved…so who was it that didn’t love you?”

Sam suddenly felt lukewarm liquid splash against his face. Crowley had thrown the rest of his wine at him, and looked absolutely furious.

“Get out.” His voice was deceptively calm.

Sam knew he’d gone too far.

“Look, I just—“

“I said GET OUT!” Crowley screamed at him, and honestly he frightened Sam at that moment. His eyeballs bulged slightly, giving him an insane look. Wine was dripping onto Sam’s clothes and the cover of the book. He got out of his chair and left with a careful glance at Crowley. Eyes closed and head leaned back, he was visibly shaking with anger.

 

Sam showered to get the wine out of his hair, after having thrown his clothes in the washer. He was alone in the bunker, and suddenly realized how Cas and Dean probably wouldn’t be back until later the next day. It was evening, and Sam wasn’t sure what to do next. His eyes were tired of reading, and he knew Crowley wouldn’t want him to return. Sam wasn’t sure he himself even wanted to.

He sat down on his bed. Why was Crowley so upset? It was personal, yes, but it was in and on its own an innocent question. He was just curious.

Sam fell back in the bed and sighed. He fell asleep somewhat uncomfortably, tossing and turning in his sleep.

He awoke with a jolt.  _ Crowley _ . He’d left the dungeon without putting the chains back on.

 

He hurried back to the dungeon, and found Crowley pointedly looking in another direction. The room stank of wine, much like his own face had done before he’d showered.

Sam moved over to Crowley to put the chain on his arm on first, but he didn’t talk to him. Crowley clearly wasn’t in the mood.

Then something came down hard on top of his head, smashing to pieces at the impact.

_ The wine glass _ , his mind barely managed to register, before fingers dug at the back of his head and curled around chunks of wet hair, before yanking him down. He felt his knee crash into the side of the chair, collapsing onto the concrete floor. Then teeth dug into the side of his neck. He screamed.  _ Or yelped, maybe _ . He thought. He felt warm liquid begin to trail down the side of his throat, and he felt even more leave his veins into the mouth still clamped against his exposed neck.

He tried to rise, but the fingers were still clasped around his hair, crampingly pulling him down, never letting up. He felt his entire left side go limp, falling useless across Crowley’s lap. He heard Crowley grunt, close to his ear.

From where he lay, he couldn’t see much more than Crowley’s shoulder and the top of his arm. He felt helpless as an eerie numbness spread through his body, the exact opposite of how he’d felt all those years ago drinking Ruby’s blood. He knew Crowley was draining him. He was drinking from Sam’s throat, feeding on him. Taking more than he could give. There was nothing he could do to stop him. He was defeated, and he’d gone down embarrassingly easy. He was useless. Overpowered by a washed-up, half chained down,  _ weakened _ demon.

Everything was going dark.

~~~

Crowley felt the blood fill his mouth, and swallowed as much as he could, nearly choking, sucking down as hard as his lips were able to. He felt waves of satisfaction wash over him, and he felt Sam give up beneath him. He’d gotten the jump on the stupid kid. Held him down with one arm, and latched onto his throat. How he’d longed for this. How he’d  _ hungered  _ for it. The syringe was a relief, but this was the real stuff. This was what he really wanted.

Sam seemed to have passed out, because he wasn’t struggling anymore.

Then a hand closed around Crowley’s neck. Sam pulled free from his now weak teeth, and turned to look at him – only that wasn’t Sam, no bloody way it was. He was calm, and clearly powerful. Not drowsy, as Sam had been when he’d entered the room. No, this was something different, and this something was strangling him. Crowley gasped for air, his hand trying to pry fingers away.

Whatever being was in control of Sam, touched the wound on his throat with the free hand. It closed up immediately. The hand then waved at Crowley’s unclasped chains and they latched heavily around his limbs again.

The strangling ceased, and Crowley wheezed for air. “Who are you,” he croaked while gasping for air.

“That is none of your concern, demon.”

Crowley would recognize that condescending tone anywhere. Whoever had taken control of Sam Winchester, was an angel.

Then the bloody thing sucker-punched him right in the face, and he remembered nothing else.

~~~

“Oh yes,” the woman at the information desk said, “that sounds like Steve. He started here yesterday. He’s very good, has lots of experience from L.A. General. All the midwives  _ love _ having a good-looking hunk like that among them,” she giggled.

“He’s a  _ midwife _ ?” Dean asked no one in particular, sounding offended.

“It’s the perfect job, isn’t it?” Cas asked.

“Well, where is he now?” Dean asked the clerk.

“Hm…” She typed something on her computer. “I think the patient in room three has begun labor, and he’s one of the personnel attending her, so you’ll probably find him there. What does the FBI want with Steve anyway?” She didn’t sound scared for him, just wildly curious. Castiel suspected she took a personal interest in gossip.

“We really cannot disclose that kind of information, ma’am,” he answered her.

“No, yes, of course not.” She hurried to correct herself back into her original position, as she had leaned almost entirely over the counter in her eagerness.

“Let’s go,” Dean called from down the hall. Castiel nodded politely at the clerk.

~~~

Dean had barely poked his head through the door to room three, confirming Steve was there, and then hastily decided they had better wait until the labor was over so as not to disturb the expanding family. Castiel was very much in agreement, so they sat down on the sofa out in the hall, Dean fidgeting with his phone, Castiel calmly waiting with his hands folded.

Castiel knew human labor could very well go on for several days, and hoped this one would not. Dean looked very pale after sitting there for a few minutes listening to the muffled screams coming through the door.

“Sounds like someone’s dying in there,” Dean muttered.

“Why should the beginning of a life be so different from the end of one,” Cas answered. “Of course it’s painful.”

“I’m not talking about the baby.”

“Oh.”

“Are you seriously not listening to the same screaming as I am?” Dean sounded incredulous.

“Yes, of course. I’m sure she’s given plenty of painkillers though. Probably even an epidural.”

“Doesn’t sound like it though.” Dean looked confused. “How do you even know so much about this stuff, anyway?”

“Humans fascinate me,” Castiel answered truthfully. “They always have. I guess I’ve accumulated a fair amount of knowledge over the years, though I have understood little of your behavior.”

“’Your’? You do realize you’re human too now, right?”

“The idea is… _ difficult _ to grow accustomed to.” Castiel shuddered. Becoming human had proved to be difficult in more ways than he could even imagine. “Such as the digestive system, I find it fascinating that –“

“Oh my God Cas, I don’t want to hear about that! Didn’t you get any insight for free from the guy whose meat suit you’re wearing?”

“Probably, I just never paid it any attention.”

“Huh. Hey, is it just me, or has the screaming stopped?”

Sure enough, in that exact second a white-coated doctor with black-framed glasses pushed through the door. Dean peeked in. “He’s still in there. The lady’s got a lump of blankets in her lap, though.”

“Yes, Dean, that would be the tiny human she just pushed through her vagina.”

Dean gawked at him. “Did you just...was that  _ sarcasm _ ?”

Castiel frowned. “What?”

Dean shook his head. “Nevermind.”

They remained where they were until the djinn exited the room with a big grin plastered on his face. It faded quickly as he recognized Dean.

“Keep walking,  _ Steve _ ,” Dean was already pushing the silver knife up against the djinn’s back.

“Where.”

“Somewhere with no people.”

“Locker rooms.”

“Well, get going.”

The djinn turned to walk, and then spotted Castiel behind Dean.

“Hey, aren’t you –“

“I said  _ get going _ ,” Dean hissed.

And he did.

~~~

As soon as they were in the locker rooms, Dean pressed the knife against the djinn’s throat.

“Please, if you’d just let me explain –“

“Why should I?” Dean growled. He really wanted to get this over with before the djinn poisoned anybody else.

“Dean, wait.”

He glared over at Cas. “ _ What? _ ”

“I don’t sense any malice from this creature. Though without my grace, I cannot be sure. But I think we should hear him out.”

The djinn’s gaze flicked between them. “Grace? As in angels? Who _ are _ you people?”

Dean held eye contact with Cas, and could tell he wasn’t going to back down. “Fine. Get to talking,” he told the djinn, wiggling the knife, but still holding him firmly in place. At the same time, he started thinking about how damn lucky they’d been not to run into any angels while working this case.

_ Zeke. Fuck _ . He really had to talk to him. It’d been days, and he’d still not come up with any solution to this pickle.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just so  _ hungry _ ,” the djinn started. “I’m not used to having to create illusions to feed, and I guess I overdid it a little.”

“A  _ little _ ? Did you even begin to hear what that guy did to his wife?” Dean was incredulous.

“Okay, so, a lot! Look, everything just went downhill from there. After I heard about what he did, I didn’t dare use any illusions again, and I was practically starving when you showed up, reeking of hunter.”

“I’m that obvious?” Dean couldn’t help feeling a little hurt.

“Yeah. Sorry, pal. But  _ you _ , oh, you were a freaking feast.” The djinn nearly laughed, putting Dean a bit off. He wasn’t sure what he meant.

“You…oh, that had me feeling full in no time. I even managed to knock out that other giant of a hunter…I wouldn’t have stood a chance, hadn’t it been for you.”

Dean blinked. He heard Cas cough.

“Yeah, and thanks to you, too,” the djinn nodded over at Cas.

“But why did you start using illusions in the first place?” Cas asked.

“I…I’m having some trouble. My wife,” he hesitated for a moment, and Dean had time to wonder at how this guy actually had a wife, “she started talking about getting a divorce. And I could handle that, no problem, by taking up bartending. But then,” and at that he pulled out a worn picture from his back pocket, “then my daughter found out. About the divorce.” He held the picture forward, and Dean took it with his free hand. It showed the djinn, a blonde woman he assumed was the wife, and a kid looking to be around ten. They all looked very happy, and something inside Dean twinged.

“I assume you partly fed on your family’s happiness,” Cas said from behind Dean.

“Yes.”

“And your troubles make that…difficult.”

“Yes. I’ve had to make up for the loss somewhere, and eventually even the Bungalow-job couldn’t cut it. I’m really sorry about what happened to Ben, I really am, and I regret doing that to him. It just seemed a lot easier than faking an application to get in here. I mean, Ben wanted me to, so I figured it was okay, but I was just too hungry to do it properly. I couldn’t control it. I was a little worried about what my illusions would do to you,” he nodded at Dean, “but as you were intent on killing me I decided not to care.”

“Now hold on just a little bit, the Goose-guy  _ asked _ you to put pictures of his dead wife in his head?” Dean didn’t believe that for one second. What even mildly masochistic dude would do that to himself?

“Well, not exactly. Ben’s a friend, and I knew he was hurting. He’d asked me to help cheer him up, though he probably meant by alcohol and good strippers. I thought my idea was better, though clearly not.”

“No shit,” Dean answered.

“Dean, I think we should give him a chance.”

Dean had already thought about it, and though he didn’t like letting this guy go after what he’d done, that little girl didn’t deserve to lose her father just because he’d screwed up. He hadn’t actually meant to hurt anyone.

“And what if he gets hungry again?” Unfortunately, the hunter in Dean never left him.

“I’ll stay on-call for the hospital. I’ll just take a few shifts, when I need it,” the djinn quickly shot in.

Dean eyed him suspiciously. “Believe me when I say we’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you slip up, just  _ once _ – I won’t let you off the hook again.” Dean could tell the threat scared the djinn. Good. Another reason not to stray from the small path.

“Just out of curiosity, does your family know of you…descent?” Cas asked.

“No. And they never will.”

Dean believed him. He put the silver knife back in his pocket, and they turned to leave.

“Hey…thanks. A lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Cas answered.

“Also, good luck to both of you. With everything.”

Dean had a suspicion as to what he meant, but did his best to put out of his mind how this guy knew every detail of his innermost desires.

“You just stay good.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sam woke on the dungeon floor to Crowley humming. He stirred.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Sam looked up. Crowley was chained exactly as he was supposed to, watching Sam collect himself with mild interest. Sam felt his throat. No wound, only hardened blood. “What happened?”

Crowley gave him a look of surprise, then laughed heartily. “You  _ don’t know? _ Priceless!”

“Know what?” Sam was getting more and more confused. He was pretty damn sure Crowley had attacked him, and no matter how embarrassing the memory was, it was no less a memory.

“You tripped and fell,” Crowley drawled.

“I’m serious, Crowley. Tell me what happened.” Sam was up on his feet, and took a few steps closer, just to emphasize his words.

Crowley measured him up and down, a pondering look on his face.

“Surely you’ve started to understand how this works.”

Sam frowned. Then it dawned on him. Crowley wanted something in  _ return _ . Ever the businessman. He sighed. “ _ What. _ Just tell me what.”

Crowley grinned. “Chocolate and foot rubs. In unlimited amounts. Also, a long standing agreement regarding the rest of George Martin’s published and upcoming works.”

Sam gaped.

“What? I don’t know how long you boys are keeping me here; a man’s gotta secure his future.”

“I am  _ not _ rubbing your feet.” Sam crinkled his nose at the thought of it.

“Sure you are. If you want to know what’s going on. Of course you can shower them first; you don’t have to touch  _ stinky _ feet.” Crowley’s grin grew wider. He looked like a Cheshire cat.

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me. Even you know that’s a pretty shitty deal.”

“Supply and demand, Moose. Supply and  _ demand _ .”

Sam blinked a few times, trying to take in the entire shittiness of Crowley’s suggestion. He couldn’t.

“Well I can tell you this; I’m not giving you an unlimited amount of  _ anything. _ ”

Crowley chewed on that for a bit. “Fine. I can agree to a gift card for say…50 rubs?”

“1,” Sam exclaimed. The idea was still sickening him.

“Oh come on, that’s not how you haggle! 25, then.”

Sam got over himself for a second, and said: “3.”

“10. That’s my final offer.”

“5?”

“10.”

“Please, please say 5.”

“ _ Ten _ .”

Sam cursed inwardly. He knew Crowley was winning. This was his goddamn job, of course he’d be good at bargaining. Sam was tempted to say  _ no deal _ , but he really,  _ really _ wanted to know. He was aware that something had been off ever since he started the trials, and it had gotten better after he’d aborted the third one, but he wasn’t back to normal. At the same time, he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was actually wrong. Crowley  _ knew _ . He could tell by that wicked grin, and he knew with himself that no matter what he did to Crowley, he could never force it out of him. He’d have to coax him. He’d have to play Crowley’s game.

“Dammit, fine, 10.”

“And the chocolate?”

“Let’s say 10 of those too.”

“20?”

“No, 10.”

“Very well. What about the books?”

“As long as I get to say when and how much we read each time, I’m good with it. Besides, if you’re here long enough to finish the books so far, it’ll probably be years until there’s another one.”

Crowley nodded, even though Sam believed he knew nothing of the matter.

“I believe we have ourselves a deal then, once again. As I have seen nothing of that scotch, I must insist that we make this one written.”

“Fine.” Sam went and got pen and paper, and let Crowley dictate as he wrote. In a way it was fun, accommodating Crowley.

When he was finished, he looked over at Crowley expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what.”

“Well, tell me what happened.”

“No.”

“Are you  _ kidding _ me? We just agreed that—“

“You never said anything about  _ when _ I’d tell you.” Crowley grinned.

Sam sighed exasperatedly, and put his head in his hands. “You’re a fucking grievance, you know that?”

“Oh, I love you too, Moose.”

At this point Sam just looked at Crowley, the fact that he’d given up evident on his face.

“Oh, it’s not so bad. All I want is one teensy weensy foot rub, and then I’ll play along.”

“You never play along,” Sam declared. “It’s a goddamn law of nature.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley mused. He seemed to find Sam’s formulation amusing.

Sam sighed once more, and rose to go get a bucket of water and some soap. No way in  _ hell _ he was nearing that without disinfectant.

 

It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. Crowley’s feet were surprisingly petite, not calloused with ingrown nails and corns as he’d expected.

“Ah. That’s the spot, right there.” Crowley’s mutterings, though, were getting dangerously close to moans. It was really creepy. Sam wondered how long he’d have to keep at it, and felt he’d been rubbing for quite some time already. Less than 15 seconds later, Crowley pulled away his foot, saying: “I think that’ll do for now. I’ve got 9 to go though, remember that.”

Sam put the chain back on the foot he’d been rubbing last. He’d made sure never to have more than one limb unchained, so Crowley had sat there with his neck chained, one foot sticking out.

“I’ll put your shoes back on later,” Sam said.

“Sure. Look, I just have to say, you give terribly good foot rubs.”

Sam was surprised at the compliment. Crowley didn’t seem like the guy to hand them out, exactly. “Thanks.” He got up on his feet and sat back down on the table he’d pushed out of the way for the occasion.

“Now, spill it.”

Crowley motioned him to come closer. He whispered, almost as if he was afraid someone would hear him. “There’s an  _ angel _ inside of you.”

Sam blinked. Not what he’d been expecting. “There’s a what?”

“Angel,” Crowley hissed. “Don’t know his name, but seems like a shithead,” he muttered. “He’s strong. Came out when I…poked you.”

Sam blinked some more. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

Crowley looked at him curiously. “You are taking this surprisingly well. I’d envisioned more…yelling. Maybe flipping of tables.” He sounded disappointed.

“I’m not entirely sure I believe you yet,” Sam answered sternly.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m telling you, there’s an  _ angel _ inside of you,” he was hissing again, “and he doesn’t seem to be particularly fond of little old  _ moi _ .”

“So actually you’re just telling me this because  _ you _ don’t want him here.”

“Perhaps. Also, I really love foot rubs.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sam assured. “I’m gonna go…think about this.” He picked up the bucket and headed for the door.

“Hey, don’t forget to come put my shoes back on. Gets bloody cold in here,” Crowley shouted after him.

 

Sam lay down on his bed. An angel inside of him. The thought was ridiculous. Wouldn’t he have noticed? Though, being taken over would explain certain blank spots.

He decided to give it a shot.

“Hello?”

He felt stupid, asking a question out loud like that. He decided to do it silently instead.

_ Hello? _

Okay, that felt slightly less dumb.

_ Hello, Sam Winchester. _

Sam jerked at the sudden unfamiliar voice in his head. He couldn’t help but look around.

_ Who are you? _

Suddenly he felt the room disappear around him. Instead, he was standing in what appeared to be a library. There was a lit fireplace to his left. There were two chairs in front of it, and in one sat a man he’d never seen before.

“Sit,” said the man.

He did.

“I am Ezekiel, one of the lord’s heavenly servants.”

“Where are we?”

“This room is a fabrication of your imagination. Perhaps a fragment of a memory, I don’t know.”

“So we’re inside my head?”

“Pretty much.” Ezekiel shrugged.

“Why are you in my head?” Sam tried not to sound angry; for now, he was focusing on figuring out what the hell was going on.

“Your brother asked me to.”

“ _ Dean? _ Why?”

“You were dying.”

Sam frowned, not really understanding.

“The trials had…put a fair amount of strain on you. You fell into a coma, and were getting ready to move on. Your body was collapsing. Your brother asked me to help heal you. In return I would borrow from your strength, to regain my own.”

“Why…why didn’t he  _ tell _ me?”

“He was worried you’d not agree to it.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You need my permission to stay.”

“Yes.”

Sam contemplated that for a while. “Does anyone else know about you?”

“No. I wished it so. I am not ready for my brethren to find me.”

“So you’re hiding out from the other angels.”

“More or less.”

“Wait…” Something dimmed on Sam. “Is that why Cas didn’t stay here? Because the other angels were searching for him?”

“That was probably a main causal, yes.”

Sam stared at him incredulously. This angel  _ possessing _ him, which he knew nothing about, had chased Cas away from them, away from the one place he’d definitely be safe, and Dean had agreed to it. He must’ve really been desperate.

Sam felt anger well up inside of him. Dean had pulled a lot of crap over the years, but this...this wasn’t just about them, this was hurting their friends. Their  _ family _ .

And Sam would not stand for it.

“If you leave me, I die, right?”

“Most likely.”

“Well, I have a condition. If you want to stay.”

Ezekiel looked at him with what had to be surprise.

~~~

It was darkening outside as they drove back to the bunker. They’d cleared out the motel room pretty quickly, and after a quick stop for gas, they’d set out.

“Dean, I thought it was very kind of you to give the djinn a second chance. Even though he had caused someone’s death.”

“Well, he didn’t really seem like all that bad of a guy. Besides, everyone deserves a chance to fix their mess.”

Castiel didn’t answer. He fell into contemplation. When he wreaked havoc in heaven, killing angels, did he deserve a chance to fix it? Probably not, but he’d really wanted one, and had been immensely grateful for it. After being tricked by Metatron and causing all the angels to fall; he  _ definitely _ didn’t deserve it, and no one seemed inclined to give him one, but that made him want it even more. If Dean thought he deserved it, he didn’t agree with it, but was happy to hear it nonetheless. Dean’s opinion mattered to him, he realized. A lot.

“Dean, why did you see me in the illusion? Why not the Gates of Hell being closed, and you and Sam living happy lives, instead?”

Dean shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Maybe because…I’ve given up on that. Maybe because at some point along the way, I realized that’s not gonna happen, and gave up on the dream. Maybe because even if it did happen, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’m a hunter, Cas. It’s who I’ve always been. If there weren’t any monsters in need of killing, I’d be out of a job.”

Castiel nodded slowly, even though he didn’t entirely understand how Dean could give up hope now that they had come so close to actually achieving it.

Even if he had been able to grasp that, there was long way from happy non-hunting days to the two of them alone in some hotel room.

“You’ve seen me before. In illusions.”

Dean swallowed, but nodded. He seemed reluctant to admit the fact.

“Daydreams,” Dean specified quietly.

“Why,” Castiel asked. “Why me. Surely there must be someone else out there you could imagine spending time with.” He couldn’t help but think of all his sins. What he’d remained in purgatory for. How much he despised himself.

At the same time, the memory of Naomi pushing him to kill Dean sprang to the surface. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It had never been possible for him. Even though he had beat Dean into a bloody pulp, and the dumb human had just  _ taken _ it, he could never kill him. Bruises heal. Bones heal. Corpses don’t.

“I don’t know why. I don’t have a fucking clue. I just know that when I close my eyes, it’s always you. There could never be anyone other than you, Cas.”

Dean’s voice was dead serious. Castiel knew Dean had trouble speaking about his emotions, and this was a confession on a whole other level. The severity of Dean’s words were beginning to sink in.

_ There could never be anyone other than you. _

Castiel guessed he felt the same way. These human emotions were extremely frustrating; so confusing it was nearly impossible to say definitely how he felt. Every aspect of his mood and thoughts regarding Dean were a jumble; almost like a behemoth puzzle. Castiel suspected it was to some extent the emotion called ‘love’, but at the same time it reminded him a lot of the way he felt about all humans when he was an angel. Now that he was human, walking amongst humans…there were just so many of them, at some point he’d begun ignoring the faces in the crowd; faces he’d probably never see again. He felt… _ something _ about Sam and Dean, probably the love one would have for one’s close family. They were likely the closest thing he had, but with Dean…there was something more. Something deeper. Some sort of connection, but he didn’t know exactly what, and he didn’t really know what to do about it. The irony of it was that Dean would be the one he’d ask about this sort of thing. It would feel…awkward bringing it up to Sam, should his suspicions prove correct. Sam, no matter how sympathetic and kind, no matter how understanding, was still Dean’s brother. From what he’d observed of humanity, feelings of ‘love’ did not go down well in conversations with that person’s siblings. At least not with brothers.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dean looked at him with brows creased with worry. “Look, I’m sorry to dump all of this on you man, I should have just shut up about it.”

“No, Dean, it’s fine. I’m just…confused.”

Dean nodded. “No problem pal, just take your time, figure it out.”

They fell into quiet.

~~~

_ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit… What do I do about Zeke? I can’t throw out Cas now. I just can’t. But what if Sam gets hurt? Like, really hurt? What if he goes back into a coma, and doesn’t wake up? No matter how much Cas means to me, I can’t risk that. He’ll just have to wait, until Zeke’s finished healing. Then he can come back. I’ll just have to explain it to him; Cas’ll understand. _

“Look Cas, I’ve gotta be honest with you. I’m not sure you can stay with us yet.”

Castiel felt his stomach drop. He’d worried about this.

“I know I’m being a huge dick and all, but I can’t explain everything right now. Cas, I need you to trust me.”

Dean stared at him, and Castiel could tell that he felt very strongly about this.

“I need you to trust that I will fix this, in the end. I just need a little more time to do so, okay?”

Castiel nodded, even though it was not even remotely okay. Being apart from Dean as an angel had been painful, but as a human it was downright excruciating. He wasn’t sure what he’d do this time around.

Suddenly, _being_ _around_ Dean was painful as well. He assumed it had something to do with feeling rejected.

“I’ll leave as soon as we get back.”

“No!” Dean shook his head violently. “Please. That’s just too mean. At least rest there until morning. I’m sorry you can’t stay, but I’ll be damned if I’m chasing you off with some stick.”

Dean looked aghast. Castiel wondered if Dean knew the meaning of the word ‘aghast’, and what stick he was talking about.

“Alright.”

~~~

When they got back to the bunker, Castiel moved inside to find something to eat, while Dean unloaded the car. He met Sam in the library.

“Hey! How’d the hunt go?”

“Very well. We allowed the djinn to live.”

“You did? Really?”

“Yes. Dean was reluctant at first, but I managed to convince him. The djinn made a mistake, but he was not a bad man.”

“That sounds great, Cas. I’m impressed you managed to change my brother’s mind.”

Castiel became suddenly aware of his own conclusion to not discuss the matters of Dean with his brother. He changed the subject.

“I will be leaving in the morning.”

Dean entered the room at that, looking at the two of them, then plumping down in a chair.

“ _ Really? _ ” Sam asked, giving Dean a pointed look. “And why is that?”

“I –“ Castiel looked over at Dean, “need to get going.”

“Cas, if you want to stay here, you can.”

“Sammy –“ Dean began, but Sam shot him a look that clearly told him to shut up.

“I’ll talk to  _ you _ later. Cas, I mean it. We’ve got plenty of space, if you want to, you can keep the room you’ve been sleeping in.”

Castiel felt overwhelmed by the idea of staying. Of having a home. 

“If you’re sure –“ he looked over at Dean with worry, not wanting to intrude if Dean knew something he didn’t.

“I’m sure.”

Sam sounded so reassuring, so comforting, Castiel couldn’t help himself. He took a stride to close the distance between them, and pulled Sam into a close hug. “Thank you.”

Sam stood frozen for a second, then hugged back. “Of course, Cas. You’re welcome.”

 

After that, he settled down on his bed.  _ His _ bed. He heard Dean and Sam discuss in the library in hushed tones, until Sam raised his voice heatedly, saying: “…and to have to hear it from _ Crowley _ rather than my own  _ brother _ –“ 

Then Dean must have quieted him, because he didn’t hear any more after that.

 

Kevin returned from his room later in the evening. He’d been out cold, door to his room locked, ever since Sam told him to go to sleep while they were searching for a way to wake up Dean. He seemed surprised to find Castiel staying there permanently, but didn’t say anything about it.

The four of them ate dinner together in the evening. At around 11, Kevin went to bed again. Castiel decided to retire as well. He lay awake in bed, and listened as Sam and Dean turned in for the night as well. He wasn’t really tired. He lay awake for a long time after that, swallowed in darkness. He jumped a little when his door creaked, and felt his pulse rise upon realizing who was standing there in the door frame. He saw the cautiousness on Dean’s face. Castiel realized that he probably couldn’t tell whether he was awake or not when it was so dark. In a moment of braveness, he spoke up:

“Is this a dream?”

Dean’s face didn’t change. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get into bed.” He wasn’t sure if echoing Dean’s words from that first night was such a good idea, but it was the only thing he could think of. 

Dean chuckled nervously, but closed the door behind him and stumbled through the darkness towards the bed. He got in, laying stiff next to Castiel. A few awkward seconds went by, before he spoke. “I don’t know what to do. When it’s for real.”

“Me neither.” The dark made him relax a little. He didn’t have to worry about what his face may betray, or whether the warmth in his cheeks was visible or not. Castiel turned around and put a hand over Dean. “Maybe just run with it.” He heard Dean’s breath hitch, something he really didn’t expect.

“Wow, Cas. Human you is such a Don Juan.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Dean laughed, relaxing for the first time since he realized Castiel had come back.

“But you’re still Cas.”

“That I am. Though maybe not the same.”

“Maybe not.”

They fell quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. It got warm, so Castiel kicked the covers off his legs. Dean must’ve felt the same way, because he sat up in bed and pulled his shirt off. Castiel felt his cheeks warm up again, even though he couldn’t see anything. When they’d settled back in, he hesitated for a long while, until he let his hand brush against Dean’s now naked stomach.

He didn’t feel much, but he felt warm skin. Not wanting to presume too much, and not wanting it to seem suspicious, he quickly retreated his hand. He had difficulty believing that he was attempting to make romantic skin contact with Dean. He had almost as much difficulty believing he had a nearly naked Dean lying next to him in  _ his _ bed.

“You can touch if you want to.”

Dean sounded calm. A direct opposite to how Castiel was feeling, but then again, Dean had probably lived out this scenario in his head a dozen times already. Castiel was the only one new to this situation. He couldn’t help but think, Dean had a lot more experience with being in erotic situations with someone else, in general, even though this wasn’t Castiel’s first time either. However, there was a lot more riding on this than there had been before. A lot more meaning to it. Maybe Dean was also nervous; this was the first time for him too that it actually meant something. That it was really happening.

Castiel decided to take Dean up on his offer, and, not wanting to ruin anything, carefully felt his way across nude skin. When eventually meeting a line of fabric, he hurried to retreat upwards. His heart was in his throat. He wasn’t brave enough for this. Dean didn’t urge him. Castiel had a good idea of what Dean wanted, after having been inside his head, but maybe he too wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought calmed him a little.

Dean sighed in the darkness, and turned to snuggle against Castiel’s shoulder. It brought them flush up against one another. He didn’t know what to do with his hand, so he let it rest where it had ended up against Dean’s thigh.

Eventually he heard Dean’s breathing fall into a rhythm, signaling that he wasn’t awake anymore. Maybe this was okay for a first night. So Castiel relaxed, and fell asleep with Dean’s hair against his chin. It had tickled at first, but he didn’t mind it filtering in against his stubble.

His last conscious thought, was how he could easily get accustomed to this. No matter what lay waiting ahead, he could certainly get accustomed to  _ this _ .

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone wondering what the “got back”-part was about when Dean is bitching to Sam about Kevin not being up yet, Sam’s referring to when they left to finish the third trial, and how Kevin was left at the bunker. When they came back, Dean having brought Sam to a hospital and getting him possessed and all, Kevin was trapped in the bunker as it had gone on lockdown, and all the angels had fallen and everything was wrong. That’s when Kevin started translating the angel tablet, looking for some way to reverse the fall. So, that’s what I meant.
> 
> I wrote this almost two years ago, and it's been sitting on my computer gathering dust ever since. However, [obsessionandstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessionandstuff), the most awesome person ever, read through it and edited the entire thing in a day (!). Thank you dear, this wouldn't have been here without you! And if it was, the quality would surely be poor! This editing process has made me realize that grammar...I cannot grammar.


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